The Things Time Erases
by Freud-Plato-SisterMonicaJoan
Summary: The return of the Turner family from Africa and the episodes 6.1 – 6.2 Call The Midwife retold, slightly AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1. From Africa, With Love.**

"Dad, Mum! You're back!"

Timothy hugs Shelagh, but when his father approaches, Tim moves back a little, so Patrick, sensitive to the nuances in teenage body language, slaps his back and then squeezes his son by the shoulders: "We missed you in Africa. How're you?" He grins at Tim, his oldest baby, boy, it is a wonder this strapping young man was once his baby.

"Good. I've been studying the maps of the places you visited. And also, liver diseases."

Patrick and Shelagh laugh. "Good for you, Tim. Where's our baby girl? And where's Granny? Ange! Granny!" Patrick calls.

"Here we are!" Granny Parker comes down the stairs with the sleepy Angela in her arms. "This young lady has just woken up from her beauty sleep." Shelagh quickly takes Angela and takes in the child's smell and warmth. Patrick takes them both into his bear hug. "Oh, how good to see you, Ange, "Shelagh whispers. Angela seems a bit dazed. Then she says: "Mummy".

The pain of separation is often felt in its fullness only after it is over. During the absence, it was better to take it in your stride.

Tim considers them from a distance, with an ironic look. Shelagh raises her arm and invites him in. "Please, Tim, come here." The boy moves closer and puts his arms around the family with a teenager's nervous half-swagger, half-fragility: "Okay, Turner Family, that's enough hugs. Angela is now using five-word sentences since you've been away, Mum."

"Oh, are you, darling?" Shelagh tickles Angela's chin. She yet feels the pang of missing this developmental phase of her young daughter. "Did you write it down, Tim?"

Tim goes to fetch a notebook. "Yes, I did. Here it is*. _'Want to have Granny's pie_ '."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 The Repercussions of Africa**

"Mum, did you know that a polio epidemic has broken out in America?" Tim was reading a newspaper at the breakfast table. Angela was playing on the floor.

"Oh no. I hope they can get it under control." Shelagh pushed her tea cup away from her and tried to eat some ham. This indigestion seemed to come and go in unpredictable turns. "Are there any details in the news?"

"No, it is just the normal Reuters cable in _Daily Mail_."

Shelagh quietly pondered if too much exposure to news and medical journals was good for her precocious step-son. They had told him about Matthias who they'd given his braces to in Africa, but had left the most harrowing parts out of the story. Tim had listened with fascination and concern. He had asked if he could write to Abel and Matthias. They had decided that he could write to them at Hope Clinic. He also wanted to know about the emergency caesarean section, but they thought those details were out of bounds. Tim had cheerily responded: "Okay, I'll write to Nurse Franklin myself. She won't spare me any of the gory details."

Shelagh had nearly said something, but Patrick had taken her hand and whispered to her "Trixie can handle that."

Now Shelagh felt it was important to make a reassuring point. "Surely you know from your reading and your talks with Dad that polio will no longer be a threat fairly soon. If people get vaccinated in large numbers, herd immunity will protect us; sooner or later."

"Herd immunity is an interesting thing…." Tim raised a jug to pour milk on his corn flakes. "Do you want some more milk, Mum?"

A strained look spread over Shelagh's face. "Milk, oh no, Tim. I don't have time for more tea. Mind Angela for a while, I have to…go."

Tim heard her go to the bedroom, and then she rushed in the bathroom and locked the door.

Tim took Angela in his lap. He raised his voice: "Mum, do you want to know about the causes of what you seem to call Cape Town tummy? I could show you some pictures of the viruses and bacteria. There was a special issue of the _British Medical Journal_ about gastroenteritis."

"No thank you, Tim. I don't." Shelagh's voice sounded tense, but firm, even if it was muffled through the door. "This is a small problem, no need to worry."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 Mama Angela and Mama Timothy**

"Why so pensive, Tim?" Shelagh asked.

Tim had been hanging around in the kitchen and seemed to have something on his mind.

"I posted the letter to Abel and Matthias today, Mum."

"Oh yes. What about that?"

"Do you think they will respond to me?"

"Well, it may take time. Abel was a very polite boy, and knew some English. If he is not too distracted by work or other things, he may respond on behalf of both of the brothers. But it takes ages by normal post from South Africa, neither he nor the Nuns at Hope Clinic have money for air mail. Why Tim? Are you troubled about this?"

He sat down and shifted his arms and legs awkwardly. "Well, the other day, I was just thinking about…. Angela's birth mother. That was the last time we wrote to a stranger and we never got an answer.

"Not that we expected that," he hastened to say. "Of course, the chances are she will never get the letter we sent to the adoption agency."

Shelagh kept silent for a moment. She, too, had been thinking of Angela's birth mother. "Tim, do you know what I found most rewarding in Africa. Every woman is called Mama. If children don't have a mother – which often happens there, mothers die or go to work in cities – the other women take care of the children anyway. Aunts, grandmothers, sisters and cousins. I'd like to think that I am Mama Angela. I mean, I know I am, but I'd like to think that her birth mother may find some peace in the same way as African mothers do. Someone is taking care of her child. I am Mama Timothy, too – and I hope your late mother would be pleased with that."

Tim's mouth twisted, and he turned his face at the window. "Yes, I think she would."

After Africa, there had been more occasions to speak of Tim's mother, because of the children's lengthy stay at Granny Parker. Granny's memories from Tim's childhood were rejuvenated by Angela, and with Tim's childhood, Marianne was present.

Before Africa, there was only the odd occasion talk about Marianne when some old piece of furniture induced memories – or Patrick might browse the book shelf and see something that Marianne had written as a dedication in a book. The Turner men also sometimes talked of a Christmas, a holiday trip or a birthday with recollections of Marianne.

Shelagh recalled how Tim had first spoken to her of Marianne; he was showing her his scars, very faint now, from a bike accident when he was four. That was after her operation at the Harley Street clinic, and Tim obviously wished to cheer her up by comparing scars. Granny Parker wasn't the only one to compare Tim and Angela. Patrick was also inclined to compare Angela to baby Tim. The texture of past and present together. How Tim used to sleep snorting, but Angela sleeps whimpering, he said that Marianne had called Tim "her little puffing elephant."

Shelagh made a mental push to move on to the present day. "I appreciate that you take care of Angela so well, Tim." Shelagh was swallowing a little. "There should be a special African name for it, like Brother Angela. We, your Dad and I, could not do without you."

Tim decided to lighten the spirit, too. "No, you could not. May I add that a more concrete show of appreciation of Brother Angela would not be considered untoward? Some bonus money to the bike fund, perhaps? "

Shelagh laughed. "I think you have enough there, with Granny Parker's Christmas money."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4. The First Suspicions.**

It was too bad that Sister Ursula had seen her munching a biscuit, Shelagh thought. But she didn't like the way this Sister talked of mothers and the appointment scheduling. She wanted to defend herself and the system.

"Most mothers don't mind when things run on. They can attend talks and catch up with their friends over tea and biscuits."

"In future, Mrs Turner, biscuits will be for fainters only. Eating for two should be about careful nutrition, not self-indulgence." Sister Ursula left in her haughty manner, like she had said _Carthage Must Be Destroyed_.

What about hospitality and kindness being the first rule in nursing, Shelagh thought. She angrily took a Rennie. Her heartburn was not supposed to have anything to do with the Capetown Tummy, but there it was and neither affliction seemed to be fading. Yet it was an odd kind of indigestion as she hadn't entirely lost her appetite. She craved sweets.

A disturbing thought about craving sweets dawned on her. She also had a vague memory from yesterday, she had watched chalk crumbles on Nonnatus House floor and they had looked so appealing to eat.

 _"Surely not. It is just because Sister Ursula had spoken of eating for two…No. It can't be."_ She bit the Rennie with new gusto.

Shelagh turned her tumultuous energy to the new timetables Sister Ursula had demanded. The business of the patients was more important than daydreaming.

"Oh, what's this? Are we having a raffle? "Patrick had arrived at the desk in full swing.

"No, but we are taking a gamble, if you ask me. Sister Ursula insists on a new schedule for maternity and postnatal appointments."

"I feel for you." He paused for a moment. "This is the second time I've seen you with Rennies. Do you need something stronger, a prescription perhaps? You know you are married to the sawbones who writes them."

Shelagh's smile was fragile. "No, Patrick, thank you."

He left as hurriedly as he had entered the scene.

Shelagh watched after him, her thoughts racing. _"Oh, my sawbones. How can I tell you what gamble I suspect? I will not. Not yet."_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 The Hormones Running**

 _For the reasons of this fanfic, there is a corridor connecting the Maternity Home to the old Turner home._

Shelagh's state of mind was frantic. She felt a surge of hope she hadn't felt since….well, not since she was reading Patrick's letters at the sanatorium. She felt scared and jubilant, agitated and giddy, the whole gamut.

She had secretly sent a urine sample to the lab. She knew she should not keep this secret from Patrick, but she was torn, and hence sought the help of the family clinic female doctor. Doctor Eastwell knew nothing of her history and took it for granted that Mrs. Turner wanted to surprise her husband, the doctor.

The next week she found herself hungry and not nauseous at lunch time. She prepared sandwiches and tea for herself and Patrick, and knocked on his office door with her elbow. "Please open the door for me. Lunch is arriving."

He opened the door and took the tray from her. "I feel pampered. A fifteen minute lunch with my favourite nurse," he beamed.

They sat down to eat and Patrick asked, "Do you know what I did this morning?"

"I have a good guess about that. I noticed that the bathroom was being used for a long time. I took refuge at the maternity home smallest room."

"I taught Tim how to shave his beard. Well, moustache, mostly, a very faint moustache. A singular moment in our family." Patrick sighed a little. "Hormones running, childhood fading fast."

"Yes. I had noticed the silky shadow. The marking of time and what it erases and reclaims for eternity." Shelagh was secretly pleased that she had had an excuse to use the Maternity Home facilities. No need to explain and skipping her breakfast went unnoticed, as well.

"Yes." Patrick was nibbling the sandwich with a slightly melancholy air. "No more little boys in this family."

 _'_ _Oh, are you so sure of that_ _'_ … Shelagh quickly swallowed the words on her lips. This was not the time to casually say: " _About those hormones running. Do you remember that one time in Africa_ …"? She had counted the days, and had a fairly good idea of how this had happened, but she must wait for the lab result. She must speak to Sister Julienne first as she needed a woman's view.

"By the way, are you going to see Sister Mary Cynthia?" she asked.

Patrick turned sober. He fiddled with his fingers. "Yes. I am going to visit her tomorrow."

Shelagh put her hand on his. "Let's hope for the best. She may recover. She may recover well as you did."

Patrick squeezed her hand. "Yes, dear."

After leaving his office, fear again gripped Shelagh's heart. How is this going to turn out? "Oh please, help me, O God," she whispered to herself.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 The Curious Case Of The Bri-Nylon**

"Sister Mary Cynthia needs tender care, and medical attention. She does not have the safety net of her family here. So, I hope to send her to Northfield, to get her nearer to her family around Birmingham." Patrick was talking to Shelagh in their sitting room about his day.

"Let's hope it will work." Shelagh raised her eyes from her sewing. She gave Patrick a querying look. "How are you feeling about it? Personally, I mean."

Patrick smiled wanly. "Fine, fine. I feel for Sister Mary Cynthia. I might even visit Northfield to see her. I'd like to catch up with Nurse Barry." His hands strayed to his pockets, and he gave Shelagh a sheepish look and said, "Although I have to admit that I still have this tendency to search for a cigarette when I deal with stress. Old habits die hard."

"Yes, they do," Shelagh admitted, feeling all her old uncertainty very strongly. She had gotten the results today.

"Patrick, we need talk about something."

"What about?"

Shelagh came to sit by him on the sofa and put the Rennies and the lab result sheet on the coffee table. Her smile was wobbly, and she was wobbly. Somewhere inside her she felt like she was standing on the misty road again, watching the car arrive. Fortunes turning, destinies reformed, time standing still. She drew a breath. "I have something to tell you. "

Patrick frowned a little. "What's this? Lab results?" He took a look at the paper. His mouth opened agape. He gave a quick, astonished look at Shelagh. Then he took another look at the paper. "Really?" A beaming smile crept on his face. He turned to her and embraced her. "How wonderful, darling!"

Shelagh leaned onto him and started to cry a little. "Oh Patrick, I'm so happy, and so afraid."

He raised his head from her shoulder and said firmly," Don't be afraid. Look at my face. Have courage."

Then he kissed her. After some delicious moments, she heard him muttering against her shoulder, "When? How? I'm so glad. So overjoyed, but how strange! What a chance."

"Africa. Bri-Nylon."

"Oh, yes. The miracle of Bri-Nylon. Our happiness is based on plastic fibres."

Shelagh started to laugh, a little pained laugh. "Yes, indeed. Among other things."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7. In The Mirror**

"Oh, Patrick…!" There was elation and embarrassment in Shelagh's voice.

Patrick walked to her and embraced her from behind, caressing her belly. Shelagh raised her hand to his cheek. They both smiled at their reflection in the mirror. She had been trying to button up her nurse's uniform, but it had become very tight.

"You know what I think?" Patrick said with hint of wickedness in his giddy voice.

"Yes, Doctor?"

"Your…. breasts are swollen due to this wonderful bun in the oven."

"Such straight-talk, Doctor. Hmm, do you think that is delicate enough for patients? You should hone your bedside manner."

"Last night, you seemed to enjoy my bedside manner….very much."

Shelagh giggled, and he could see in the reflection how her mouth quivered at the memory. "Your professional manner, doctor," she reprimanded. "And remember to use the word 'breast' sparingly in this house. We have a touchy teenager here. "

"Oh, I think he is studying these things in private. Not that I want to know about that."

"Me, neither!" They burst in laughter.

Patrick grew serious. "Soon, we will tell him."

"Yes, when a suitable time comes."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 The things time erases – or not**

Patrick and Shelagh were lying in bed, leaning on each other late at night and once more considering the shocking turn of events.

Anxiety trembled in Shelagh's voice. "This will be an enormous change, with Angela still so small. Can you imagine two preschool children in our family?"

Patrick kissed her forehead and said, "Oh yes, I can. I find it exhilarating."

"You've lost your catastrophist attitude for a second, I see, "Shelagh said and Patrick laughed. Shelagh's face turned anxious again, "I'm still afraid of a miscarriage."

Patrick pulled her closer and sighed. "Yes. There's that, but It's hard to take this all in at once. Let's wait and see for four more weeks. There are some odds here on our favour. Ted Horinger was very interested when I called him. He said we should expect no further complications, except those of an elderly primigravida. Ted also said, with apologies, that he perhaps didn't stress enough that laparoscopy does not reveal the inside lining of the uterus."

"Do you know what I think of all this? How inexact all medicine is. We'd better live on faith."

"Don't tease me about my fondness for exact sciences, my dear wife. Although I must say I feel simply blessed by the large range of error of medicine in this case. A baby. You're pregnant. It's splendid or as Tim would say _smashing!_ "

Shelagh stroke his chest. There was a mixture of pain and relief in her smile. It was lovely to see him brimming with satisfaction.

Patrick considered her tentatively, not being sure if what he was about to say was right. "Shelagh…does this make up for ….the difficult time after Harley Street Clinic?"

Shelagh's eyes grew misty. "To some degree, yes, but I am not confident yet. How could I be? Some things time erases, and some it does not. I'm quite sure this is our last chance. I'm not getting any younger." Then she raised her eyebrows and winked at him. "Neither are you."

Patrick laughed. "Okay. missus, touché. I am a bit older than Cliff Richards, but I won't take back my happy expectation of the patter of tiny feet."

He turned sober and matter-of-fact again. "You know, no one said anything is one-hundred percent certain. It was your very irregular period cycle which made us both think a pregnancy was unlikely. After we got Angela, it didn't much matter. Or did it? We perhaps should have spoken more about this possibility, even in theory."

Shelagh nodded. "Yes, it is true that even I became more relaxed after Angela. I didn't collapse when I got my period, or when I didn't get it. I even stopped counting for some time. Although before we left for Africa, I counted the days from the last cycle – just to be sure I'd be prepared for the long journey and the primitive surroundings, if it happened. Then I had a period just before we left. When it didn't recur in Africa, I was just relieved. Since we got back, we have been so busy – and I was not the only person having indigestion after Africa."

"But maybe the only one with swollen breasts…" Patrick mused and let his hand caress her side.

Shelagh's body went hot and cold. "Oh, these side effects of pregnancy... are interesting" she moaned.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 Sister Bernadette and the sardines**

"Oohh. What is this smell, Timothy?" Shelagh walked swiftly to the window, opened it and seemed nearly to hang out of it, taking deep breaths.

"Mum, it is only sardines in oil. I'm frying them for tea."

"Tim, that is a kind thought, but I had tea with a patient. She wouldn't take a no for an answer." After saying this Shelagh muttered something about a bag of potatoes, a gift from a patient too, which she had left outside and hurried to the front door. But Tim heard her go to the bathroom.

There was an odd shade in her voice, Tim thought. When was the last time he had heard her talking in that thin, elaborated voice? Like she was… hiding something. He recalled how he had once stayed at Nonnatus House late in the evening, waiting for his Dad. These were the dire days after the death of his mother. Sister Bernadette had come to him, bringing tea and yes, sardine sandwiches. She even directed Jane Sutton to the kitchen saying that there were more of them there. Miss Sutton had passed them with a sandwich plate in hand, saying something about going to her own room. She rarely sought company.

The two of them had a little chat, and didn't hear his Dad arriving with his car, nor his footsteps in the hall until he spoke. He said tentatively, "Ahem, it is time to go home, Tim."

"Hi, Dad. The sandwiches were delicious. Could Dad have one too? It is the housekeeper's day off, Sister Bernadette," Tim explained.

But Sister Bernadette spoke breathily something like, "I'm afraid that is not possible. Good night." She then quickly left the room with the plates.

"Well, we'd better be going, son," Dad had said in a manner suited to a funeral director. He was very quiet the entire trip home.

It was that same tone of Sister Bernadette that Tim recalled today. That same pinched, thin voice as if she wasn't speaking the truth.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 The Laundry Basket**

"Shelagh, do not carry the laundry basket, it is much too heavy. Let me take it, "Patrick said.

Tim caught the sight of them from the door ajar and saw his Dad give Mum a kiss at hand. She smiled at him sweetly and caressed his cheek. They were becoming worse, he sighed, resignedly. They should become more detached, more adult. In truth, their simple relationship made him feel secure. 'They should not be doing mushy stuff when I am around," he grumbled.

Tim was feeling very superior on the topic of family dynamics as he had been reading Young & Wilmot's new study called _Family and Kinship in East London_. What's more, he had just finished _Lady Chatterley_ _'_ _s Lover_ – a copy secretly circulated at school – much better than that leaflet of sexual education snatched from the Family Clinic. He congratulated himself on being well-prepared for the great game of life. He started whistling, and leafed a new comic magazine absent-mindedly… and then it hit him. The laundry basket. Milk. Sardines. Tim's head started spinning. He made a furtive trip to his Dad's surgery and ransacked a pile of Lancets to read again articles about tuberculosis.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11 The Secret Cupboard at Nonnatus House**

"I keep thinking how much worse this could have been." Patrick was tending Shelagh's burnt hand in their sitting room. The news of the day was the explosion at the docks, and Shelagh's heroic rescue work.

"You're such a catastrophist again!" Shelagh teased him. "But you're also a doctor, and you know what it's like when help is needed - you just jump in."

"He would have got even more involved than you, Mum!" Tim taunted. "Probably ending up fried to a crisp." He was playing with Angela on the sitting room floor.

Shelagh winked at Patrick. "Now!" she whispered.

"Now?" Patrick frowned. He turned to watch the children warily.

"Best done when we're all together as a family," Shelagh whispered back.

Patrick saw that Tim was again focused at Lego bricks. He coughed a little and said, "Tim, Miss Dyer told a funny story at the clinic today. She said she and her friends had a theory as children that babies come from the big cupboard at Nonnatus House."

"Yes, Dad, I have heard that story. Sister Evangelina's bag was another 'origin' story." Tim shook his head. "But I was delivered by Sister Evangelina, so I was not so easily fooled. Dad, is there something you want to tell me?" He kind of enjoyed seeing his Dad squirming. _Better go for the mercy kill_ , he silently thought and continued aloud, "Mum, the fact that your biscuit intake has rocketed, you turn green at the mention of sardines, and Dad won't even let you pick up a teapot, leads me to only one conclusion, as does the embarrassed looks on your faces. Angela and I are getting a baby sister or brother, aren't we?"

"Yes." Patrick huffed, turning from Tim to Shelagh, joy spreading over his face.

"Yes, we are." Shelagh confirmed. They suddenly felt immensely relieved, even if embarrassed.

"Good. And I don't want to know any other details. But rest assured I'm quite ready to be not just Brother Angela, but Brother Beatrice or Brother Bluto, too. "

"Beatrice or Bluto! Where did you get those names?" Shelagh shrieked with laughter.

"From Pope-Eye cartoons."

XXX

Later in the evening Patrick heard Tim muttering to himself in the kitchen while doing washing up. "Babies coming from a cupboard. Give me a break."

Patrick stifled his laughter and continued reading Beatrix Potter to Angela.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12 Moving on**

"Timothy, if you have any questions regarding the baby…" Shelagh ventured.

"Mum, I thought I already expressed myself sufficiently last night. No details, please." Tim's voice was determined.

Shelagh suppressed a smile. "No Tim, not that kind of questions. I only recalled the time you had many questions regarding adoption. It is the kind of the same situation, again."

"Yes, and I have shared my room with Angela for a year now. No problem with that. I mean, not many problems with that." There was, however, some hesitancy in Tim's voice. "I was only kidding when I said I will move out if the baby is a girl."

"Tim, we really don't want to let you share your room with two young siblings." She gave a pause." At least, I don't want it. We'll need to move. "

Tim whistled and rolled his eyes. "Oh, do I detect a rebel voice in the family unit? You want me to persuade Dad to move to a bigger house?" The topic was not totally new. Timothy was well aware of the slight tension around Dad when Mum started to complain about cupboards and lack of space.

Shelagh made a face. "Yes, Tim. I think you got the point with your usual preciseness. I am afraid I need help with the idea of moving to a bigger home. Your Dad is a good egg, but sometimes he's too set in his ways." She kept a pause. "I know it is not merely a move for you, either, Tim. This is the home you were born in. You have memories in this house."

Tim turned to watch some distant point through the window, as was his habit. "Yes. Dad and I have memories." Then turned to look at Shelagh and shrugged "But we can overcome our set ways. We can carry the memories with us."

Shelagh let a sigh of relief. "You are a brick, Tim." She put her arm around the boy. Tim let that happen, but felt forced to make a small declaration of independence. "Hey, Mum, do you know what will convince him? The disorder in our room. I may just skip the cleaning day once or twice."

Shelagh laughed. "Don't push your luck, son. This is a rational compromise. You'll help me, and I'll help all of us."


End file.
